Софи Келли - Faux Paw

“It’s in the basement,” I said. “It’s kind of awkward for one person to bring up the stairs alone and I forgot to ask Marcus to help me when he was here.”

She lifted her right arm and made a muscle. “We can do it,” she said. “We don’t need any boys.”

Owen gave a sharp meow.

Maggie smiled down at him. “I didn’t mean you,” she said.

He went over to the basement door and pushed it open with a paw, then looked expectantly at Maggie.

“Thank you, Owen,” she said.

With Owen supervising, we got the bench up the basement stairs. Hercules came to watch as we carefully wrapped it in an old blanket, sniffing and poking the padding with a paw. Once the bench was set in the bed of the truck and Maggie had given both cats a couple of sardine crackers to thank them for their assistance, we headed out to Wisteria Hill.

I backed the truck up to the side steps of the house. Roma had come out onto the verandah when she’d heard the truck. “What is this?” she asked as Maggie and I got out.

“We brought you a little housewarming gift,” I said.

Roma looked from Maggie to me. “I should say you shouldn’t have, but I’m really curious about what it is.” She cocked her head to one side and studied the blanket-wrapped shape. “It looks a little small to be another Eddie.”

Eddie Sweeney, aka Crazy Eddie Sweeney, was a star player for the NHL’s Minnesota Wild and was Roma’s significant other. Mags had made a life-size Eddie for a Winterfest display a couple of years ago. Faux Eddie had led to a lot of rumors swirling around town about Roma and the real Eddie, and eventually to the two of them meeting. Real Eddie had bought Faux Eddie as a gift for Roma.

I climbed into the truck bed and Maggie and I got the bench off it and up onto the verandah. I unfastened the bungee cords that were holding the blanket in place and Maggie pulled it away.

“Oh my word,” Roma said softly, putting one hand to her chest. “Did . . . did you two do this?”

I nodded. I suddenly felt the unexpected prickle of tears. I was so incredibly lucky to have friends like Roma and Maggie. I caught Maggie’s eye. She swallowed and blinked a couple of times. I had a feeling she’d felt the same rush of gratitude I had.

Roma leaned over and trailed a hand across the cushion fabric and down over the wood. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice raspy with emotion. “It’s more beautiful than the one in Red Wing.”

She threw her arms around Maggie and reached out to pull me into the hug.

As we carried the bench up to the second floor of the old farmhouse, I crossed my fingers—metaphorically, since I couldn’t do it literally—that it would fit in the space under the tall multipaned window at the end of the hall.

It did.

Roma beamed at us. “How did you know it would fit?” she asked.

“Maggie measured the space,” I said.

Roma looked up at Mags. “When did you do that?” she asked.

Maggie had been studying the bench, head tipped to one side. She shifted it about a half an inch to the left and moved it back even less than that, then nodded with satisfaction. She looked at Roma and then shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “When did I measure for the bench? Remember when the three of us were stripping the wallpaper in the closets?”

Roma nodded.

There had been so many layers of paper on the old walls I’d been half-afraid they’d fall down when we got it all off.

“You lost the drawstring in your hoodie,” Maggie said to me.

I made a face. “Right. The vacuum ate it.”

Her eyes darted from side to side. “I took it. That’s what I used to measure the space because I didn’t have a tape measure and I couldn’t exactly ask Roma if I could borrow one.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. Roma was running her hand over the cushion again. I nudged her with my elbow. “It’s okay to sit on it.”

She laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “It’s so beautiful, I don’t want to mess it up.”

Maggie put her arm around Roma’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “You can’t ‘mess it up,’” she said.

Roma sat down in the middle of the bench. She grinned up at us.

“Your drawstring is hanging on the bulletin board in my studio, by the way,” Maggie said to me.

“Don’t worry about it. Owen turned that hoodie into the cat version of a futon.”

“See?” she said. “I told you he was smart. He’s creative, too.”

I laughed, wrapping my arms around her shoulders in a side hug, and thought that she didn’t know the half of it.

Roma had made chicken corn chowder for supper. We sat around the kitchen table talking about her plans for the yard and the outside of the old house. “Oren’s going to start painting as soon as it gets just a little bit warmer,” she said, glancing out the window to her right.

“What did you finally decide on for colors?” Maggie asked. Her spoon was paused midway between her bowl and her mouth. She had made several “mood boards” for Roma, highlighting the different color combinations she’d been trying to choose between for the old farmhouse.

Roma nodded. “Buttercream yellow, vintage white and winter-lake blue. And thank you for putting those boards together for me. I never would have been able to decide with just those little swatches.”

“You’re welcome,” Maggie said. “You picked my favorite colors, by the way.”

“Eddie’s, too,” Roma said.

Something in her voice, or maybe something in the way she said Eddie’s name, told me something was off.

“How is Eddie?” I asked, pushing my empty bowl to one side.

“Eddie’s good.” Roma couldn’t help smiling whenever she said his name, so I knew whatever was wrong between them was fixable. “Nobody expected them to make the playoffs this year and now it seems as though everyone wants to interview him.” She glanced out the window again.

I shot Maggie a sidelong warning glance to stay quiet and waited, letting the silence settle at the table with us. Roma looked from me to Maggie and back again. “Can you two keep a secret?”

It wasn’t really a serious question. I trusted Maggie and Roma as much as I trusted anyone, and I felt certain they felt the same way about me as well. Still, I nodded.

“Of course,” Maggie said softly.

Roma glanced down at her hands for a moment, then looked up at us. “Eddie won’t be going public with this until the playoffs are over, but . . .” She hesitated. Took a deep breath. “He’s decided to retire.”

I wasn’t really surprised. The last time Eddie had been in town he’d been full of plans and ideas for Wisteria Hill. In the back of my mind I’d wondered if he was thinking about making a permanent move to Mayville Heights.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Maggie asked, picking up her spoon again.

Roma leaned both forearms on the table, reached up and began idly tracing the shoulder seam of her shirt with one finger. “It is and it isn’t.”

“I’m guessing the good part is that Eddie’s retiring while he’s still healthy,” I said.

“That’s why he’s decided to retire now,” Roma said. “Kathleen, do you two know who Ben Crossley is?”

“Only the best center to ever play the game,” I immediately said.

Maggie’s eyebrows went up. “Excuse me,” she said. “Sidney Crosby?”

I gave her a Cheshire cat smile. “I don’t think so, Mags. Check the numbers.” Then I turned to Roma. “Crossley was Eddie’s mentor, wasn’t he?”

She nodded. “They met at a hockey camp when Eddie was just eleven. Ben has been part coach, part mentor, part father figure.” She swallowed. “And he’s showing signs of early dementia. He suffered more than one concussion in his day.”